


It's Just a Vase

by Snapperoni



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Blood and Injury, Emotional Hurt, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Flashbacks, Gen, Past Abuse, Past Relationship(s), if you like bulma at all please don't read this i make her such an asshole, rating this as mature solely because of the abuse, this was just a therapy piece tbh im not going to even lie to anyone rn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-17
Updated: 2020-11-17
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:28:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27602804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snapperoni/pseuds/Snapperoni
Summary: It's just a vase.(Please read the notes before reading.)
Relationships: Tenshinhan & Yamcha (Dragon Ball)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 14





	It's Just a Vase

**Author's Note:**

> HUGE content warning for major verbal abuse and emotional trauma as well as slight depictions of blood and wounds and feelings of anxiety. If either of those things might be uncomfortable to read, please do not read this fic. Also don't read this fic if you like Bulma at all or you don't want to see her depicted as abusive. If you're fine with all of the above, please enjoy.

_ The glass shattered to the ground, shards both large and small exploding onto the pink-tiled floor. Yamcha looked from his hand to the floor in mild confusion until he heard footsteps enter from the right side of the room. _

_ “What the- what happened here!?” Bulma’s sneakers squeaked against the ground before crunching over the cause of all the commotion.  _

_ “Oh, sorry Bulma,” Yamcha began meekly, already making way towards the cabinet to get a broom and dust pan. “I guess it just slipped. I’ll clean it up, don’t worry.” _

_ Atop the glass, Bulma shifted her weight around, evidently creating smaller pieces beneath her. Seemingly content, she huffed and stepped away from the area, bringing her sneakers up to her before brushing the shards off. “Well, duh. Who else was going to?” _

_ Sounds of broomcorn bristles brushing against crystalline fragments echoed throughout the kitchen. Unexpectedly, Yamcha felt his shoulders tense the longer the silence prolonged. _

_ But while he became lost in his own anxiety, he found all the pieces had been brushed into the dustpan by the time Bulma spoke up again. “You know, I could’ve really been hurt.” _

_ Yamcha’s lips began to shake as he attempted to ask the simple question: “What?” _

_ “What do you mean ‘what?’ What if I wasn’t wearing shoes!?” Turning on her heel, Bulma stomped up to Yamcha who found himself suddenly smaller than the five-foot-five woman. “I could’ve bled out! And it would’ve been your fault!” _

_ “But… you didn’t-” _

_ “It doesn’t  _ matter  _ that I  _ didn’t. _ It’s what if I  _ did! _ How can you be so careless to not even think about my safety!?” _

_ Turning his gaze to the floor, Yamcha shuffled his feet, his grip on the broom handle tightening. _

_ Fingers snapped in front of him as his head snapped up, meeting Bulma’s suffocating gaze. “Look at me when I’m talking to you!” Her voice grew louder as she insisted on maintaining Yamcha’s full attention, her object of interest flinching at the volume. _

_ “Bulma, I’m sorry-” _

“Sorry _ doesn’t fix my glass.  _ sorry  _ wouldn’t stop me from bleeding.  _ Sorry  _ doesn’t stop you from being so  _ clumsy  _ all the time!” Not wanting to incur any more of her wrath, Yamcha forced himself to maintain eye contact, his only comfort being to discreetly chew the inside of his lip. _

_ Seemingly done with her scolding, she turned away and began leaving the kitchen. “Gosh, some martial artist you are- I thought you guys were supposed to be good at something as simple as hand-eye coordination.” _

_ Until that moment, Yamcha hadn’t realized he was holding his breath, only noticing when fire burned in his lungs and he exhaled. He stood there for a moment, looking at the dustpan full of dust as his grip slacked on the broom. Soon realizing its direct path to the floor, Yamcha instinctively reached out to grab it, stopping yet another clatter from echoing throughout the home. _

_ Sweat gathered on his forehead as he took a few more strained breaths, carefully listening for the squeak of sneakers to return down the hall. His lungs once more found themselves tightening, his joints locking in place as seconds droned by. Finding nothing but silence, he allowed his breathing to relax as he tiptoed towards the garbage bin, quietly dumping the contents of the dustpan in before gingerly returning the tools to the respective cabinet. _

_ Despite his constricted throat’s pleas for hydration, he suddenly found himself not thirsty anymore. _

  
  


The vase shattered to the ground, shards both large and small exploding onto the white-tiled floor. Yamcha looked from his leg to the ground as he felt his heart stop, watching rice pool out and mix with smashed pottery.

His head began to swirl as he carefully stepped over the grains, putting his tea cup down on the table in the middle of the room before returning to the accident. His palms began to dampen and his knees began to buckle. God, how could he be so careless? Tien would surely kill him for this!

He caught himself hyperventilating the longer he stared at the broken ceramic. Not much caring for safety, he knelt down onto the floor, beginning to collect everything into a pile as he felt clay dig into his knees.

Yamcha’s heart throbbed as he contemplated what to do next now that everything had been in a semi-neat pile. Maybe if he moved quick enough, no one would-

“Yamcha, I’m back.”

Blood turned to solid ice as the wooden doors creaked open, Tien’s gravely voice echoing throughout the tiny home. Yamcha was certainly in for it this time: there was nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. He knelt stiff- he could practically hear what liquid blood he had left pounding in his ears, sweat quickly developing alongside his temple.

Curse Tien’s home for being so small, for it didn’t even take him three seconds to find Yamcha kneeling in the middle of the tea room’s door frame. Upon seeing him, he put his basket of radish on the ground, now beginning to pace towards Yamcha.

The closer Tien got, the faster Yamcha felt his heart pound, the oxygen in his lungs slowly being sucked away and his eyes beginning to dry from how focused he was on Tien’s approaching form.

Kneeling down on to the floor as well, he was only inches away from him now and Yamcha could have sworn he was about to throw up, even as Tien carefully picked up his hand. Despite Tien’s dedication to both training and farming, his calloused hands suddenly felt feather light, the touch feeling numb against Yamcha’s quivering hands.

“Yamcha? Are you okay?” For the first time in what seemed like hours, Yamcha blinked, swallowing any stress he had been feeling moments ago. Instead, those feelings festered in his stomach, moths quickly breeding and fluttering around.

“Huh? Oh, uh- yeah! Yeah. I’m fine, don’t worry.” His laugh was dry as he reviewed what was happening. He was in Tien’s home. He was in Tien’s home and he just broke a vase. He was in Tien’s home, he just broke a vase, Tien just came home and now they were sitting on the floor.

“Are you sure? You’re bleeding.” Looking at his hand, Yamcha found rather large cuts covering his palm, and while the cuts continued to ooze blood he cared little for that fact and instead tried to steady his breathing.

“Oh. Would you look at that.” Another humorless laugh. “My bad. Guess I wasn't paying attention. ”

Tien only stared at him, doing a quick look over of the broken vase until he got up. “Don’t move, alright? I’m going to get a broom.”

A broom? The word resonated throughout Yamcha as he felt his body lock up, only for the shackles holding him hostage to the ground brake when he leapt off the floor. “You don’t have to do that! It’s my fault your vase is broken; _I_ should clean it up.” Speeding past Tien, Yamcha brushed his hands against his white shirt, now staining the sides to a copper hue. “Where do you keep your broom? I can’t remember where it is.”

Yamcha looked around the compact kitchen frantically, evidently not so much focusing on the details of the room. _ Just find the broom. Just  _ find _ the  _ broom _ and clean it up. Maybe he won’t be mad if I can just- _

The familiar scratch of broomcorn brushing against the ground brought Yamcha out of his thoughts as he turned around to find Tien already sweeping the vase pieces into a pan. Tien briefly looked up to catch Yamcha’s stare, shooting him a smile. “Beat you to it.”

While Tien returned to sweeping without another word, Yamcha only stood there. He knew that he should just go up to Tien and help him clean up- or at least do _something_ other than stand there. But he couldn’t- it was as if his feet became cemented into the earth, his legs becoming heavier than any type of weighted training Goku could ever brag about doing.

“Hey, I’m…” His tongue froze before he could finish his statement. He became frustrated as he floundered around, attempting to voice his regret. “I’m… _ I’m-” _ No matter how hard he tried, “sorry” never surfaced. Finally giving up, Yamcha instead kept his head down and hoped things would end soon.

Realizing he was done trying to speak, Tien himself spoke up to respond to Yamcha’s unspoken apology. “Yamcha, it’s fine.”

“Is it? I mean, I broke your vase. That’s pretty lame of me, right?” Newfound strength empowered Yamcha to continue his rambling. “What if you cut yourself? Hell, you could’ve cut yourself _right now_ while cleaning up _my_ mess.” He looked to his feet, his thumb digging itself into his already-bloodied hand. “It would’ve been my fault.”

When he could no longer hear the broom’s brushing, Yamcha felt himself tense. Why was he so scared? Tien was his friend- his most calm and relaxed friend at that. He never got angry, and if he did there was a reason behind it. But this  _ was  _ a reason to get mad, wasn’t it? So why wasn’t he yelling at him?

Boots thumped against the floor as Tien once more made his way towards Yamcha, who felt himself shrink. It certainly didn’t help that Tien had at least two inches on him and was fairly large- not to mention Tien’s proved time and time again to be able to overpower him.

He knew it was rude to look down when someone was in front of him, but Yamcha couldn’t will himself to look up. Apparently, he wouldn’t have to: soon enough, Tien entered his vision as he squatted down to look up at Yamcha, his eyebrows furrowed with concern.

Yamcha’s own brows rose a bit at Tien’s sudden appearance. He grinned awkwardly as his voice shook. “Uh, hey there.”

“Are you okay?”

“I already told you I’m fine, man.”

_ “Yamcha.” _ Hearing Tien’s voice harden caused Yamcha to flinch slightly as he shut his eyes instinctively, bracing himself for whatever Tien seemed fit for punishment.

But the punishment never came. No, instead he felt Tien’s hands grace one of his own, holding it up to himself as he continued to study Yamcha. “Yamcha, it’s okay. It’s just a vase.”

Carefully, he opened his eyes to find Tien’s face still swamped with distress. “I know, but what if you were hurt?”

Just as quickly as his voice was stern, Tien’s voice returned to being as delicate as a feather. “As long as  _ you’re  _ okay then it’s nothing to worry about.” Perceiving the doubt that reflected in Yamcha’s eyes, Tien gently squeezed Yamcha’s hand. “I can replace a vase. I can patch myself up. But if _you_ got hurt? I couldn't replace you.”

Although his words were fairly simple, it struck something inside of Yamcha as he felt his heart throb. Strangely, this time the pounding was different: it wasn’t frantic and desperate, it was gentle, his chest feeling ever so light. The moths in his stomach rotted and instead he found butterflies flourishing within, his muscles and joints loosening as Tien began to stand up and let go of his hand. Oddly enough, he felt on top of the world in that moment.

“After I clean up, how about we head down to the village and get dinner? Chiaotzu’s still at the movies and- well.” Tien’s cheeks turned a peach shade as it was his turn to look at the floor. “I can’t cook.”

Coming down from his sudden high, Yamcha felt the concrete on his feet crumble as he made way towards the wok settled on top of the burner. “Good news for you  _ and  _ your wallet, _ I  _ can.” He found new vigor with every step he took, every breath he inhaled never before feeling so fresh.

“Not with _those_ hands. We’re patching you up then we’re going into town.” Yamcha stared bewildered at Tien as he walked next to Yamcha before kneeling down to a cabinet. Opening it, he recovered a rather dusty first aid kit.

As Tien placed the white box on the table, he pulled open the chair closest to Yamcha before pulling open his own chair on the side. “Sit.”

Quickly forgetting the whole vase incident, Yamcha let himself take a seat on the oak chair, holding out his hand to Tien. The first-aid box clicked open, soon being shut again once various supplies were removed.

For nearly three decades, Yamcha was privy to seeing Tien’s hand destroy and damage so many things and people, Yamcha himself included. But now as they sat in his kitchen, his hands treated Yamcha’s as though they were made of precious porcelain, and this time he was able to feel every finger dance mindfully across his palm.

He had become so relaxed in Tien’s tenderness that he hadn’t realized he was done, his hand now appropriately gauzed and bandaged. Happy with his handiwork, Tien scooted his seat back and started for the front door.

“You ready?” From his seat, Yamcha could only stare at his friend, a feeling he was sure he hadn’t felt in decades blossoming within- perhaps even a new feeling took hold of his heart.

Yamcha smiled and removed himself from the kitchen table, proudly striding next to Tien. “Honestly, I could probably eat a horse: I’m starving!”

As they left the home, Tien shutting the front door and locking it behind him, Yamcha couldn’t be more excited to eat dinner.


End file.
